


Listen To Me if You Dare

by tuz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:25:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuz/pseuds/tuz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom met him at the edge of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Owe You Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan-fiction and while I would really appreciate feedback and don't need or want flames. I will try to cite everything that I can and try my best but I'm not the best when it comes to writing but I will try.

Harry had spent a lifetime running towards everything and anything that could hurt him. He had braved Hogwarts, the safe heaven which had tried to kill him every year since he was eleven. Had faced the public and his friends even when they scorned his words and pushed him aside. It wasn't a surprise that he would walk to his death with his head held high or that everything would backfire fantastically. 

Harry walked through the Forbidden Forest looking for the man that would end his life and the war along with it. Of course, it wasn't as if Voldemort would know that by enacting his revenge against the babe that had thwarted him, he would end up killing himself. Harry Potter would die and his friends would kill Nagini and someone, it never really mattered who, would land the killing blow against Lord Voldemort. Harry was surprised at how difficult it was to keep moving forward. He felt that his whole life had been leading up to his death, and now when it was finally here he couldn't pluck up the courage to get it over with. 

 

" I see you," Harry called out. 

 

He did see him. Lord Voldemort in all his horrific glory surrounded by his loyal simpering followers. 

 

" I see you"

 


	2. I know you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO my second chapter, and I don't know ho good or bad it is. I would love some honest but respectful commentary.  
> Also, I do not in anyway own Harry Potter, that privilege goes to J.K. Rowling. Enjoy and please comment.

There was nothing extraordinary about Harry James Potter. He seemed a little odd now and then, wearing baggy clothes or placating what seemed to an owl in his bedroom (as far as the neighbors could tell) but still just a moody teenage boy. He could try to brush his hair a bit more and say hello to the other kids but most habitats of Little Whinging just assumed that he wanted to be left alone. So there was no real reason for Mrs. Dursley, or Petunia as she preferred to be called, to agonize about how abnormal the boy was. She spent a copious amount of time making sure that he brushed his hair to just see it spring back up again. She used to lock him in his cupboard when the boy started babbling about green lights, and flying motorcycles, and even dreams about floating objects. Petunia refused to feed Harry if he didn't get all his chores done, she would chase him out of the house sometimes when she had guests, but she would rather he stay in his cupboard away from nosy neighbors much like herself. See, Petunia's worst fear was that one day the neighbors would discover that her nephew was a wizard. That he had the ability to turn people into frogs, or the lengthy ornate stick he carried around was actually the most dangerous weapon ever created, at least in her opinion.

Harry, for the most part, was used to it. He was used to the screaming abuse from Mr. Dursley or Vernon as Petunia lovingly called him and beeing bullied every day by his cousin Dudley who was able to place any wrongdoings on Harry. Harry Potter was used to this and had spent the last three summers being able to get away from his wretched relatives, by escaping to the magical world, but not this year.

After he had crawled out of that maze, dragging Cedric's dead body with him, he had limited contact with his friends. No letters, no funny phone calls like last summer, and no real sign that his isolation would be ending anytime soon. Harry spent most of his time screaming abuses, a la Vernon, at his friends to his pet owl Hedwig. Back ramrod straight, knees locked, and hands clenched to stop the shaking he would rage at them in his mind.

Where were they, he thought furiously. I dove into a basilisks chamber to save Ron's little sister and spent the year after that playing mediator to my two best friends over a bleeding cat. They couldn't even bother to send a postcard from wherever they were living it up.

Harry kicked the dirt underneath the swings he was on, a little dust cloud rising up and making him a cough. It was strangely cold for summer, and dark rolling clouds had made themselves at home over the small town. Harry could almost smell the petrichor that would be there after the coming storm. He could see the winds whipping his cheeks and a sharp bite in the cold air would inevitably send everyone home, scurrying away from the water that gave this planet life. The wind was already whistling through the tunnels, and through the playground, he was in. Not quite able to mask the sounds of harsh giggling, and laughter from the local bullies, aka Dudley Dursley.

" Hey!", shouted one of Dudley's gang members, " look who it is."

Harry closed his eyes, and leaned against the chain of the swing, hoping to no avail that they wouldn't stop to harass him like they've been doing all their lives. Obviously, they saw no reason to change habits now. He stood up and turned sharply on his heels, and ran like the devil was after him.

Harry paid no mention to the yells and thundering feet that chased after him, he had no mind to stay where his bullies were and let them beat him up. So he ran, under the bridge where he used to be able to hide before kids thought it was cool to start smoking there. He bolted past the elementary schools and cookie cutter houses until he came to number 4 Privet Drive, and then dove quite spectacularly into the bush outside the TV room, hoping that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't heard. They were complaining about Britains incarceration system in sharp tongues with each other instead, and Harry sighed. His chest heaving, sweat beading in his clavicle, while his heart fought to thunder out of his ribcage.


	3. I thought you would be able to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so again I do not own Harry Potter and I am still but a fledgling author so be respectful and constructive. Also, I was wondering if I should spend more time between chapters and just make them longer but I don't now. I think I will try to do that but It might not work out so I would appreciate it if someone would comment

When Harry was 10 he used to wake up with sawdust in his hair and spiders treading along the tightrope that was his collarbone. The cupboard was dark and stale with dust motes in the air that snuck into his lungs and caused a constant hitch in his throat until he could hack it out. The close walls were comforting instead of claustrophobic, all these years had made him realize that beggars cannot be choosers and that the cupboard under the stairs was the only thing he would have for himself. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never let him keep anything else. Harry also would wake up, with dried tear tracks on his skin, dreams of a little boy with green eyes and dark smooth hair, and a deep pit of restlessness in his belly that would end with him vomiting stomach acid over the toilet. 

 

There is nothing strange to him about how the spiders never seem to crawl into his mouth or nose or even his ears when he slept, or how he sometimes finds little crumbs of pastries to tide him over till Aunt Petunia decides to let him eat, or the most peculiar events of them all: the lightbulb in his cupboard had never gone out in the 11 years that he had lived there for and someone had been whispering stories to him. The Dursleys would certainly never go in his cupboard and change out the light for him, the very idea was absurd, and nor would they tell him stories.  Stories for children had magic and wild fantastic things that would not be tolerated by the Dursleys. 

 

Though the stories did not seem a good fit for children. Harry would shudder from the ghastly voice telling about how all the mudbloods would perish, and how blood would finally be cleansed. The cold tone would ghost up his spine and shivers wracked the stick like the boy in his rickety bed of thin metal frame. The green light would flash in his dreams and the scent of lilies would become overpowering. Harry had tried to talk to Aunt Petunia about the strange voice, scared and would be beside himself in worry for himself. She, of course, had shoved him back in his cupboard.

 

Then...Harry turned eleven. Letters were whipping his skin leaving tiny little cuts that he didn't even notice over the sound of paper warring against each other and the roar of his Uncle Vernon. And then, oh then a wondrous large fantastical man that seemed to step out of his dreams had told him he was magic. And Harry was vindicated. There was a fierce triumph in knowing that all these dreams from the past had not been dreams but memories(and here he swallowed because his mother and father were dead and there were heroes but  _ theywerenevercomeingbacktogethim _ ) and he could finally leave the Dursleys, and magic would save him from itchy clothes, dark cupboards, and dried bloodstains on previously pristine sheets of bedspread.

 

So Hagrid put him on a boat in the middle of a tumultuous sea and lead him away like a savior, and Harry heard the wind whisper right in his ear. 

 

_ "Don't trust a man that trusts too much." _

 

Harry frowned and looked at Hagrid questioningly, "Hagrid what did the wind mean?"

 

Hagrid looked back at the little boy with too large eyes with a small nose, the clothes plastered to his too thin frame and cocked his head to listen.

 

"What d'ya mean Harry. Who said somethin'?"

 

_ "He can't hear me." _

  
Harry started in his seat of the boat, salty sea splattering his hands and stinging his eyes as he looked to the adult who had denied the voice that while low was still as clear as day to him. A voice that Harry had lived with for years on end and had just accepted as part of the strange things he could do but never mention because Aunt Petunia would take it out on his hide. Restlessness crept up his shoulder blades and-and itch settled over his heart where hope had been before. 


	4. Jayus: a joke so terrible that one has to laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. So once again I do not in any way own Harry Potter, nor do I have to money to purchase it. I also am having a lot of trouble stopping myself from just posting whatever 500 words I've written. It is surprisingly hard and I am really enjoying myself with the challenge. Please comment, or bookmark, or click the kudos button but please comment. I really need feedback for this fic to work. Enjoy.

**Fourth Year**

Harry stood still, heart hammering and lodged in his throat making it so he couldn't speak. He walked quietly towards Dumbledore and averted his eyes from the icy penetrative gaze of the old man. It was so easy to forget that Dumbledore was considered the most powerful wizard in the world when he usually acted so genius, but ever so often that facade would crack. Harry found it terrifying what Dumbledore could do, hide his power so well except to a select few outside a few situations that called for it.

Nevertheless, Harry stared straight ahead and quickly shuffled to the room with the other three champions and braced himself for questioning. He walked into the firelit room and sank down into a large armchair without acknowledging any of the champions looks.

"Do they want us to come back,", asked Fleur tossing back her silver blond hair and Harry vaguely remembered Ron telling him about Veelas. Fleur did look the part he thought.

He shook his head and pursed his lips. He no longer felt his heart pounding in his ears, instead, he seemed to be bordering on the edge of fainting. He was strangely lightheaded and distantly he could hear someone cursing in his ear, something about incompetent teachers and foolish old men. He allowed a twitch of his lips before he tuned out the voice, he already knew what would happen if he talked about hearing voices. Ron had been very clear. Ron. Harry let his head fall back on the back of the armchair, Ron already had jealousy issues and now he would most likely be insufferable, never mind the fact that Harry could very well die.

The door burst open started and the swarm of either excited (Ludo Bagman) or furious officials and teachers burst through.

"Oh, this is fantastic! Absolutely incredible this is!" Bagman burst out in a booming voice. "Ladies and gentlemen may I introduce you to the fourth Triwizard Champion!"

There was a moment of dead silence, and Harry opened his eyes to lot the man incredulously. Barty Crouch seemed to feel the same from the way the man was glaring at Bagman.

" This little boy? How is this possible?" Fleur demanded incredulously.

"Well, it's quite incredible actually-" Ludo started and was broken off by Dumbledore.

"Harry, did you put your name in the goblet?" The man asked urgently. He had somehow walked over to him without Harry's knowledge and looked at him quiet intensity.

The voice in his head had gone suspiciously quiet as it always did when talking to Dumbledore.

First Year

Hot tears pricked the corners of Harry's eyes as he stared into the mirror. His mother was smiling at mirror Harry with an undeniable warmth while his dad had just casually ruffled his hair. He closed his eyes and tried to swallow hi suddenly tight throat. He knew he shouldn't be here, he knew that being reminded of everything he had lost would only make him cry. He sniffled anyway.

"Why do you make yourself cry?"

"I'm an idiot, incidentally" Harry replied.  
The as of yet nameless, but undeniably male, the voice in his head had begun to talk to him more. Just a whisper at first, but now the voice had become more and bolder. Speaking while Harry read through his charms textbook and telling him to correct his form, or saving him from blowing up his potion and incidentally stopping Neville from adding in porcupine quills into his when he really really shouldn't. Not that is stopped Snape from taking points from like it was going out of style.

" That is not new...This is only hurting you. Don't you think you've been hurt enough-?"

Harry's breath hitched and then he jumped as he heard a soft voice.

"Back again Harry?"

Harry whirled around to see Dumbledore standing behind with an uncharacteristically somber. Or what seemed to uncharacteristic, Harry had never really spoken to the man himself before this. The voice in his head was quiet, suspiciously so since they had to taken to keeping a running commentary in sarcastic and childish tones when Harry spoke to teachers. An uneasy feeling rose in his belly, from the sudden silence.

"Yes," he whispered, "how did you know I'd been here before."

Still, no voice but the distinct feeling of approval permeated through his mind.

"You and I both have our own ways of being invisible, young Harry" the man replied. "Do you know what this mirror is?"

Harry swallowed thickly and murmured, "It shows you what you cannot have but want."

Dumbledore looked at him, the frown lines of his mouth deepened and his eyes strayed to the mirror itself. "Close, the mirror will show you what you desire most in the world. Many have gone mad from seeing their most inner desires."

Harry gazed back at his headmaster. The moonlight from the window casting silver light on Dumbledores, frankly, ridiculous beard, his blue eyes were suspiciously shiny as he fixated on the mirror.

"I suppose it would be a too personal question to ask what you see sir?"

Fourth Year

"No sir"

"Are you absolutely sure? Did you have another older student put your name in the goblet?"

"No. I didn't put my name in sir.I was looking forward to a quiet year honestly."

Professor Dumbledore seemed taken an aback a bit but pity worked its way into his eyes.

"Of course, he is lying" exclaimed Fleur in a fit of accented passion.

All of a sudden Harry felt furious. Furious because of a french witch, who was supposedly the best her school had to offer, was honestly jealous of the fact that Harry was going to die. He was underqualified, barely scraping through his classes, especially potions and without his constant sassy companion, he wouldn't even be passing. He just wanted one year of not having to fight for his life because this school for magic, "safest place in the world", was just as undeniably fucked up as the rest of the world and obviously none the adults could do their goddamn jobs properly.

"Excuse me," he said furiously. Rising up to his feet, determined not to sway from the feeling of light headedness. "You think that I want to enter a tournament that resulted in the deaths of most of its contestants. You cannot seriously think that I would risk death for a thousand galleons that I already have in my account, and for eternal glory? Have you ever heard of the former Triwizard champions? No _, you haven't because one their dead and two nobody cares_."

Fleur looked gobsmacked and red faced while the voice chuckled cruelly.

The air turned somber, and even Ludo Bagman looked unsure of what to say. Harry turned to Mr. Courch and spoke beseechingly.

"Is there any way you can get me out of having to participate?"

Crouch shook his head slowly, "No the rules are concrete and if the goblet chooses you, you have to play. I'm sorry"

"Well, Hogwarts cannot have two champions. It's completely unfair" yelled Karakoroff. Harry sank back down into his armchair and put his arms around his head in an effort o block out the stupidly prideful arguments taking place. Warmth circled him and he felt the ghost of a warm hand running down his back in a comforting gesture. He sighed and subtly leaned into the hand that nobody could or should see.


	5. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter   
> also please comment

Fourth Year 

Harry took a detour while walking to the Gryffindor common rooms, not wanting to deal with his house's anger or their misplaced pride. He especially didn't want to listen to Ron, who had probably already flustered in his rage into scathing comments and ruined friendships. So he took a left where he should have taken a right and left the castle in a, what he hoped, was an inconspicuous way. 

He threaded his way through the rose bushes. and tall grass tickling his legs until he came to the Whomping Willow. 

"Wingardium Leviosa," whispered Harry.

A thin branch rose up and twisted through the whipping branches of the Willow tree. Harry threaded his wand through his fingers squinted to see the knot at the base of the willow that would still the tree. 

"You've been doing this for a while now and it still takes this long?"

It took a disproportionately large amount of self-restraint to not growl a warning. 

"It's not like the Whomping tree is predictable, you know," Harry thought. 

"But you are."

This time Harry did growl. The universe had mercy on him though and he finally was able to still the tree. 

Harry scurried over to the base of the tree and slid down the tunnel into the Shrieking Shack. 

Harry sighed and looked around the newly renovated shack. The gray and peeling walls had been replaced with a cool blue, the kind that people swore reminded them of a lake in summer time. A new-ish sofa was in the middle of the room, it had been hell to transfigure from the previously broken and creaking cot. The room smells airy as if someone had opened the window every once in awhile to distract from the musty books that littered the floor. Old volumes were stolen away from the library under the suspicious eyes of Madam Pince, not nearly as paranoid as she was in his first year, though.

Harry had started to go to the library more and more often after his humiliating first potions lesson if it could even be called a lesson. The voice in his head had murmured his agreement, and the voice had never led him astray. It was in the library when Harry learned the voice's name.


End file.
